Dr. Johnson rode his bicycle down the dark University streets. Fall leaves and lukewarm air felt like death on his skin and death felt good. His leather briefcase flapped in the wind where his murder essays were written. 5 cups of peppermint tea curled up in bed with the hope of being surprised by one original idea was heaven. And Johnson started to read…

Picture a dark room filled with a hypnotic voice. It is the sound that speaks to you in your nightmares. You hate this voice, but you gladly obey. Compliance is comforting. Finals are approaching. Your professor has cut students, failed students, and told remaining students horror stories about exams.

“I had a student, he sat right there, thought he could switch his exam with a perfect score, thought I wouldn’t notice. When he ruffled through the papers on my desk, I caught him. Duck soup.”

This voice is imitated and adjusted on a recording. Dr. Marsh enters a room and the door swings shut. He cannot leave. There is a gun, cyanide, and a rope hanging above him. A hypnotic movie begins to play and Marsh slowly goes insane. Suicide is his only way out.

Johnson thought about this murder. It was costly and required too much preparation; impossible to orchestrate.

“Good effort,” Johnson said to himself; “at least a B-. Let’s hope the next one has more promise.”

Dr. Johnson read late into the night until he flicked his light switch and enjoyed those last few moments in the dark. “I’ll teach my students how to murder reality in the morning.”

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